Collective
designation for a heterogeneity of “channeled” sources all of
which, by the very employment of this particular term, display a
common desire to ingratiate themselves with their audience as
the “good guys”. This seems to be the only thing such sources
share in common. The worst of the lot has to be the
Ashtar/Hatton
communication (qv), discharging through a rapid-rotation roster
of chewed-and-thrown-away channels since the ‘50s.

Rather than
explain why these self-contradictory wolves clothed with
kneejerk pietisms earn the Channeled Wretchedness Award (or CWRAW, as in “to stick in the...”), let’s simply say that, in
the Ashtar case, if these communications aren’t self-evidently a
brand of snakeoil pandering to the frail-ego factor of their
typical target audience, well then perhaps you are just the
glorious Light Worker they’re looking for.

The
Meier Pleiadeans, in comparison,
appear better on first introduction—again, until you begin to
read what they actually have to communicate to and through
Meier, who isn’t really a “channel” so much as an easy
pickup...

Those of the readership boasting a faculty of
assessment no more prodigious than that of “common sense”, may
find many a reason on that front alone to question either the
veracity, intent, powers of translation or the simple
intelligence of these flying Meier-onies; those with subtler
facility in assessing the esoterica of such subjects as they
profess to expound, are sure to have reason for rapid recourse
to “coitus interruptus” with respect to these beguilingly-comely
versions of the Pleiadeans Peracletus.

(Fred Bell claims to be a
“contacteé" channeler of the same Pleiadean forces linked with Meier, though the latter have professed sole troth to Billy.
However, disregarding the Meier-Pleiadean disclaimer [since then
whole veracity-quotient is exactly what is in question to begin
with], and assessing Bell’s claim solely by comparison of the
respective content-values in the presentations of each, we may
reasonably side with Fred on this one and acknowledge a general
similitude of quality from source to source, suggesting that
indeed there’s more than one for whom They Toll—and how
fortunate we all are, as beneficiaries of this badinage from
both continents!)

The Marciniak (qv)
Pleiadeans or the
Flying Fatuosi as they’re affectionately known to Southern
Crown, are in many respects the most eloquent of an ineloquent
breed.

Their “rap” is rather different from
the others, and they strain it through a vocal wha-wha that does
nothing if not bid for attention; nor do they seem particularly
pernicious in any given area—but they’re hopelessly
dysfunctional, rather as absurd as Meier’s missionaries, when
addressing the Natives as to how best to go around improving
their backward and savage lot.

We find for example that, as
exponents of the “You Create Your Own Reality” canard (qv.
YCYOR,
not “canard”) they enwrap their enraptured audience with exactly
the rap we’ve all been waiting to hear:

“If it looks like it is
too much work, something is telling you it is not the way.”
Bringers of the Dawn, p. 122.

If that isn’t plain enough, they
give formal instruction on achieving Everything-You-Ever-Wanted
without so much as a token appearance from “the sweat of thy
brow”:

All one need say in response to
something like this is: “try it”. Formulate, decree, forget
about it.

We’re willing to wager that, if your new age
command-to-the-cosmos was something on the order of “air shall
be supplied through my nostrils in the next few moments”, why,
you’ve no doubt experienced an unexpected miracle approaching
100% achievement-probability. If however your command was
something on the order of “I will receive a million dollars
deposited to my account in the next couple days”, we confidently
predict the probability-curve has precipitously plunged to nil.

So where’s the Amazing Randi when you really need him?

(For a
closer philosophical inspection of these “ideas”, see
The Big Spin.)